


Dolorem

by BlueMoon38



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: F/M, Gen, Peggy Sue, Time Travel, Zuko Needs a Hug, and not to time travel, honestly time travel is just ruining his life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2018-12-19
Packaged: 2019-09-22 17:48:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17064308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMoon38/pseuds/BlueMoon38
Summary: When Fire Lord Zuko went to sleep it was next to his wife after tucking his daughter into bed. He was twenty six.When he wakes up, he's ten years old. He hasn't been scarred. His uncle might be evil. His cousin and mother are alive. His father hasn't completely given up on him. Aang is still frozen. The Fire Nation is still trying to rule the world.And yet none of this seems to matter. Because he's lost his daughter."The hardest part about losing a child is living every day afterwards" -Unknown





	Dolorem

Zuko smiled as he breathed in the fresh morning air.  _ Fire lilies _ . His body automatically relaxed as a new waft of the heavenly scent made its way to him, and he turned left to embrace the body next to him. Only to be met by an empty and slightly cold space.

 

Zuko frowned slightly. It seemed that his wife had gotten up before him. Zuko could count the number of times that had ever happened on one hand. He was always early to rise in the morning, the first glimpse of the sun over the horizon served as more of an alarm than a rooster-cat’s cawing could ever be. 

 

And Mai was many wonderful things but she was not a morning person. Honestly, if he didn’t know that she was descended from generations of Fire Nation nobles, he might have even thought her from the water tribes. Only Katara’s grouchiness during an early wake-up could compare to Mai before she received her morning ginger tea. 

 

Zuko sighed and slightly groaned as he sat up in his bed. Only for his frown to deepen. Zuko scanned his surroundings, eyes narrowing. This was not his room.

 

Or rather it  _ was _ his room. But not his current one. This was the room of his childhood. The one where his mother had curled up next to him and told him stories before bed. Where he had hidden from the world after a particularly cruel remark from his sister or father. Most importantly though, this was the room next to the nursery, the one used by generations of princes and princesses until they reached their majority. The room where his four-year-old daughter Izumi should be sleeping in the bed he now occupied.

 

Had he somehow gone to her room in the middle of the night and fell asleep next to her? 

 

… And changed all the decorations in her room. ...Including removing the tapestry Katara’s Gran-Gran had constructed for Izumi’s name-day and replacing it with a metalworking of the dragon-spirit Honou. … Something that he had not seen since he was sixteen and Zhou had destroyed the ship that had been his home during his banishment. 

 

In awe Zuko approached the portrait of the dragon. Below it was a low table that housed four candles, and right in front was a cushion that could be used for meditation. The dragon looked exactly as he remembered it, right down to the black singe on the lower left side of the dragon’s red neck-frill. 

 

Zuko reached up slightly and touched the darkened metal in wonder. The red paint had been completely stripped away by his flames, an accident when he was six years old and first learning meditation. 

 

And yet, the large upward-pointing fangs were still a brilliant white. Zuko had learned his lesson from his childhood when he had set up the meditation area on his cruiser. He had made sure to keep his candles along the edge of the table, far away from the metalworking. It had proven to be a very fortunate decision, considering that Zuko during his early banishment could never be described as emotionally stable. The days where his flames had only been a foot high in length had been the good ones. And though the metalworking had been spared more singes, the regular exposure to such intense flames had caused the dragon’s white teeth and eyes to darker to a light amber colour. 

 

Zuko had felt an absurd level of kinship with the dragon. Day after day of watching it slowly become as tainted by the flames as Zuko had been.

 

It was an attention to detail that was alarming and deeply, deeply disturbing. He couldn’t think of anyone that could reproduce such a thing, not even himself. He hadn’t thought of the dragon for nearly a decade. He’d had much bigger things to worry about after surviving Zhou’s attack.

 

A deep sickness settled in his stomach as he looked around Izumi’s room. More and more hauntings from his childhood appeared. The comb made from the bone of a tiger-fox a servant had used to use to brush his hair into a high phoenix-tail. A set of tiny wooden Fire Nation soldiers his father had gifted him for his seventh birthday. And a miniature Pai Sho board Uncle had gifted him for travel. Another item that should be located in Earth Kingdom waters on the coast of an incredibly seedy merchants’ pier.

 

In a near panic Zuko rushed for the door. This was all wrong. So, so, so  _ wrong _ . He had to find Izumi. Had to find his daughter, and then he could try to make sense of the sheer insanity surrounding him. 

 

He turned left and in a few seconds was at the door of the adjacent nursery. He slammed the door open, and this time the changes to the room were near painful. Gone was the large stone dollhouse Toph had created in the likeness of Ba Sing Se. Gone was his daughter’s much too large stuffed animal collection, and gone was the rocking chair Mai had used to nurse her in.

 

In their place was a small collection of toys that Zuko could only faintly recognize, all missing parts and slightly burnt. These… these were his and Azula’s toys, or at least what was left of them after a number of battles between two firebending children. Battles of course that Azula almost always won. Though she’d always lose interest after an hour or so. In proper Azula fashion she’d gained more entertainment out of defeating Zuko than from the toys themselves.

 

And in the center of the room, taking up almost the entire wall was an emblem Zuko hadn’t seen in nearly five years. The red backdrop and black flame of the Imperial Fire Nation dominated the space, seemingly stealing the air from the room as Zuko stared at it in horror. He swayed slightly and felt lightheaded.  _ Breathe _ , he had to  _ breathe _ . 

 

“Prince Zuko! I was sent to retrieve you. You’re late for your morning katas!”

 

Zuko turned to the voice, staring at the servant at the doorway incredulously.  _ Prince _ Zuko.  _ Prince _ .

 

The man frowned and stalked towards Zuko, grabbing at the hand dangling uselessly at Zuko’s left side. A hand that Zuko noted for the first time with ever increasing horror was much,  _ much _ , too small. 

 

“Now come. You must change into your training clothes. Your master and sister have already started.”

 

Zuko could only gape silently as he was forcibly dragged out of the nursery and back towards Izumi’s room. (His room?) By a man who Zuko knew based on his surroundings could only be of average height and yet appeared to be a good foot taller than Zuko. 

 

They reached the door and Zuko was dragged back to the bed. The man approached a bureau and hurriedly picked out a few clothes before returning to Zuko and tossing them on the red duvet.

 

“Now hurry and change. I’ll be waiting outside.”

 

Zuko starred as the man left, and then slowly approached the clothes on the bed. He spread them out and gasped in dismay, panic beginning to seep in again. These were  _ his _ training clothes. The same red tunic, black loose-fitting pants and black sash he had worn to his morning trainings his entire childhood. They were much smaller than the clothes he normally wore and yet, slow icy fear worried that he would be able to fit into them all too well. 

 

The clothes slid from his hands and Zuko slowly approached the mirror hanging over a small calligrapher’s desk. (His desk?) And instead of gasping or yelling in shock, he could only stare blankly at the young boy in the reflection.

 

His hand began to trace the left side of his face, marvelling at the smooth and unmarred skin. The boy in the mirror did the same, both eyes widening. And wasn’t it odd how his eyes were able to do that instead of the left remaining trapped in a perpetual glare. 

 

The boy’s eyes were glistening and soon tears began to make their way down his cheeks. A sob racked its way through Zuko’s body and he gripped the chair in front of him for support.

 

No. No, no, no. It couldn’t be. It just  _ couldn’t _ . No. No.  _ Oh Agni, please no _ .

 

Zuko collapsed on the floor and continued sobbing. He put no effort into quieting his grief. What was the point? What did any of it all matter?  _ Oh Agni, why him? What had he done to deserve this? _

 

Either seconds or hours later Zuko heard a gentle knock and through blurry eyes saw the servant enter the room.

 

“Prince Zuko? Are you alright? Prince Zuko?” The words sounded muffled. As if he was trying to hear them over a raging river. 

 

The man’s callous and annoyed demeanor melted away, replaced by concern. He cautiously grasped Zuko’s shoulder and gently shook him.

 

“Are you alright? Are you in pain? Should I find a healer?”

 

Zuko could only continue sobbing. His arms clutched at his stomach. He was going to be sick. Where was Mai? Where was his Uncle? _ Where was Izumi? _

 

The man quickly stood up and rushed out of the room. “Wait here, I’ll be back with help.” Again, Zuko could barely understand the words.

 

He was a child. Oh Agni, he was a  _ child _ . And if he was a child, that meant there were several things he was not. He was not twenty-six years old. He was not Fire Lord. He was not married to Mai. 

 

He was not a  _ father _ .

 

Oh Izumi. Each sob wracked his body, but it paled to the pain in his heart. What had he done to deserve this? What could he do to bring her back?

 

“Zuko!” A voice cried out. And it was a voice he hadn’t heard in fifteen years and yet could remember every lilting cadence of.

 

“Zuko, my sweet boy. What’s wrong? What happened?” Arms wrapped around him and he melted into the embrace. This was something he could never forget. It was warmth, love. It was his  _ mother _ .

 

Through bleary eyes Zuko glanced up at the face of the woman holding him. It was his mother, exactly as he remembered her and yet more than he had ever been able to. How old had he been when he had forgotten the exact shade of gold in her eyes? 

 

“Oh Zuko my child, please, tell me what’s wrong.” Her mouth twisted into a frown and Zuko felt another stab of pain in his chest, this time from being the one to cause it.

 

“I-I-Izumi.” He managed to force out through his tears. “She’s gone. S-s-she’s, she’s gone.”

 

His mother stared at him, confusion beginning to mingle with the concern.

 

“Who’s Izumi? Is she one of Azula’s friends? Was she hurt?”

 

Another sob shook through Zuko’s frame. And yet he answered. 

 

“My daughter.”


End file.
